


Favored Enemies

by pomegrenadier



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: (very minor but just in case), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Imperial Agent Content, Developing Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Manipulation, Mind Control, Nonsexual Consent Issues, Self-Harm, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29665575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pomegrenadier/pseuds/pomegrenadier
Summary: With Chance recovering from his injuries, Ardun Kothe requests backup from SIS Director Trant. He sends the best: Theron Shan.Cipher Nine knows an opportunity when he sees one.
Relationships: Theron Shan & Male Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine, background Hunter (Star Wars: The Old Republic)/Male Imperial Agent | Cipher Nine
Comments: 37
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this ain't exactly brimming with goodwill towards Ardun Kothe and the gang. Uncharitable? Possibly! But the impression I got of these characters was not exactly stellar. They're not irredeemable inhuman monsters; they're just "good people" making moral compromises that happen to hit my personal berserk buttons. Yes, Kothe admits that using the keyword was "unforgivable," but he does it anyway because it's expedient.
> 
> And then there's the rape subtext, with Hunter. It IS just subtext, in-game, but it definitely affected my interpretation of what was going on and the decisions I made. In this continuity (as with my "canon" continuity, KTAG), the rape subtext is text-text. Nothing explicit, but heavy themes ahoy.
> 
> This AU is brought to you by [ these](https://pyr0clast.tumblr.com/post/633722824481259520/i-love-your-two-new-agent-fics-and-have-re-read) [ posts](https://pyr0clast.tumblr.com/post/633805974883418112/aurrieccentrics-said-re-this-post-im-kinda), and by contributions to your PBS station from viewers like you.

"Got an assignment for you, Shan," Director Trant says, sliding the datapad across the desk.

Theron takes it and skims the first few lines. His eyebrows go up. "Ardun Kothe? The Mid Rim Ops guy?"

"That's the one." Trant drums his fingers against the tabletop. "He and his team just lost their best slicer—wounded, not dead, but he's out of commission for a while. Kothe actually put in a request for a replacement, which is a first, so I'm inclined to take it seriously. And as much as it pains me to admit it, you are one of our best slicers."

Theron keeps reading, but the information is vague at best. "So what exactly am I supposed to be doing?"

"Kothe's team operates independently. Even I don't know the details of their current mission. You'll be briefed in full once you arrive on Nar Shaddaa."

Theron nods. Not his favorite way to start a mission—he likes _improvising,_ not going in completely blind—but compartmentalizing keeps one disaster from bringing everything crashing down. "When do I leave?"

* * *

An agent who introduces himself as Hunter meets Theron at the spaceport and brings him to the team's base. Hunter is blond and sharp-tongued, uninterested in small talk. Suits Theron just fine. They reach the base, the door hisses shut behind them, and then Hunter grins. "All right. Let's get you settled in, meet the team, talk to the boss."

Right. The team.

There's Saber, a yellow Twi'lek with an expressive face—their sniper. Wheel, a combat droid without much personality. Hunter himself, of course. And then Legate, a cybernetically enhanced human.

Theron gets an extremely fun surprise when he introduces himself to that one. "Theron Shan," he says, offering a handshake and a polite smile. "Pleasure to work with you, Legate."

Legate takes his hand and mirrors the smile, lukewarm. Or maybe it just comes across that way because Theron can't see his eyes under the red-lit lenses. "Likewise. Welcome to the team," he says. His voice is a soft tenor, sort of reedy around the edges.

His accent is very, _very_ Imperial.

Theron blinks. Hunter laughs, off to the side. "Don't worry," he says. "We have everything under control. Legate here's one of the good guys now."

"Right," Theron says faintly. "Okay. Neat."

Legate's smile doesn't waver, which is honestly creepier than if it had. "Your reservations are understandable."

"And they'll have to wait," says Hunter. "Come on, Theron, the boss wants to see you."

* * *

Ardun Kothe himself is stern and greying, with a wry but distant air. He stands up from his desk as Hunter and Theron enter the room, circling around it to meet them. "Shan, good, you're here. I take it you've already gotten acquainted with the others?"

"I have," says Theron. "Seems like a good team."

"It is," Kothe says simply. "And we're lucky to have you. Marcus speaks highly of your skills, even if he grumbles about your methods."

"I live to serve," Theron says, almost a question.

Kothe doesn't laugh, but his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Your primary function will be running the tech end of operations—remote slicing, for the most part, but depending on the circumstances you may end up in the thick of things."

"That won't be a problem," says Theron.

"So I hear."

There's a slightly uncomfortable pause. "... Do I get a sabacc-related code name?" Theron says.

Kothe's lips twitch. "Did you have something in mind?" he says, very obviously humoring Theron.

"How about 'The Evil One'? Nice and evocative."

"Aren't you the comedian," Hunter says under his breath.

"Does _Hunter_ have a sabacc-related codename?" Theron says, still looking at Kothe.

"Hunter is Hunter," Kothe says simply.

Another pause. Theron shifts his weight, uneasy. "I wasn't given much information about your—our mission," he says. "What exactly are we, um, doing?"

"We're going to stop the war before it even starts. But first, we need to do some preliminary work. Everything will become clear in time, Shan."

Jedi-grade non-answers. Fantastic. Theron just loves it when he has no idea what the hell is going on.

* * *

Mealtime isn't officially a communal thing, but apparently they're making an exception to welcome the newbie. Or at least, that's how Saber puts it as she drags Legate into the surprisingly not-terrible kitchenette while Hunter is showing Theron around. It's a nice gesture, but it's still kind of awkward. Theron is sitting in Chance's seat, filling Chance's role, but he's a stranger to these people, and to his predecessor.

"So ... what actually happened to Chance?" Theron asks, tone light, poking at his food.

"Things went a little sideways on an assignment," says Saber. "He was wounded, badly, but Legate" —she gestures at the Imperial, who looks down at his plate as if self-conscious— "got him out of there alive."

"Really? I mean—um." Theron resists the urge to stab himself with a fork.

But Legate doesn't seem offended by the surprise. Granted, he's so guarded and quiet that he doesn't seem much of _anything_ , but still. "Any of you would have done the same," Legate murmurs.

* * *

"So I'm here for tech support, I guess, and I sort of know what the others do. What's your specialty?" Theron says, while they're cleaning up after dinner.

"Infiltration," says Legate.

"... Okay. Looking forward to seeing you in the field," Theron says cautiously.

Legate looks at him and grins. "Not if I'm doing my job right," he says, tone almost ... teasing? He seems to take pity on Theron, adding, "Stealth operative. I'm good at not being noticed."

That's not even a little alarming. "How's an Imperial spook end up with the SIS?"

Legate grimaces. "Short version ... A rogue Dark Councilor tried to kill billions of people. I stopped him, but it should never have reached that point in the first place. And then I realized that he wasn't exceptional at all—he was just clever enough to keep his ambitions hidden until it was almost too late. The Empire breeds monsters. The only thing keeping them from ripping the galaxy apart is the fact that they're just as likely to rip _each other_ apart—and, occasionally, a Cipher agent gets lucky."

"I'm sorry," Theron says quietly. Not exactly poetry, but ... he's not sure what else to say.

Legate shrugs. "I don't want the Empire to lose the next war," he says bitterly. "But I want it to _win_ even less."

"Can't have been an easy choice," says Theron.

"On the contrary," says Legate, "it didn't feel like much of a choice at all."

It could be pure bantha shit, for all Theron knows—but that bitterness seems real enough, and Force only knows that disillusionment is endemic to the epsionage game.

"How long since you joined up? Or, uh, flipped?" Theron asks.

"About a month."

He blinks. "Oh, wow, you are _really_ new, aren't you ..."

Legate laughs a little, ducking his head. "I suppose so. Still getting used to ... well. Everything."

"Big change from Intelligence?"

"Very." He looks at Theron, one brow quirking upward. "What about you—is this business as usual?"

"Not really," Theron admits. "You got any idea what's up with the sabacc codenames?"

Legate pulls a face. "Not a clue. I don't know whether or not I should be offended that I'm a pip card. At least Saber is an entire suit."

"Could be worse," says Theron. He tries the joke again: "Could've been 'The Evil One.'"

Legate moves his head as if he's rolling his eyes behind the lenses, but he breaks into an actual smile as he does it. Score one for Theron Shan.

* * *

"What do you think of the new guy?" Hunter says.

"Haven't spoken with him enough to form an opinion," Cipher Nine says evenly.

"I think he's cute," Hunter confides. "Not too bright, but cute."

Cipher Nine is too fucking tired for this. "Fools don't generally wind up as SIS slicers. Unless your hiring practices are beyond negligent."

And because Hunter is dedicated to being as unpleasant as possible, he does not permit the redirect. "You think he's cute, too," he says with a sly grin. "Don't deny it, Legate."

"I wouldn't dream of denying you anything."

The grin sharpens. "And maybe if you're good, I'll give a little back."

* * *

Prepping for their first mission—retrieving data from a pirate-infested Republic lab on some nowhere world a few hours' travel from Nar Shaddaa—takes the next two days, as they gather supplies and equipment and review their intel, and as Theron finds his footing as part of the group.

Mostly this means helping with odd jobs, handing out computer spikes like illicit candies, and sparring with Saber, Hunter, and Legate, while Wheel plays referee.

Saber's good—whip-fast and stubborn as hell. She's tricky, unpredictable, shifting between implacable defense and blistering offense when he least expects it. When Theron gets her in an arm lock, she laughs it off; when she throws him, she doesn't crow over it, but she does smile triumphantly as she helps him back to his feet.

"Not bad, Shan," she says. "You fight like Kothe—that's a compliment. Good match."

"Well, thanks," says Theron, a bit nonplussed.

Hunter is a _mean_ fighter. Just a shade too intense—it's not that he doesn't respect a tap-out, it's just ... he pushes it, a little, every time. Not long enough of a delay to make anything of it, but enough to be slightly uncomfortable. Where Saber's smiles are all in good fun, Hunter's have an edge to them. Or maybe Theron's just imagining things—Saber doesn't seem bothered when she takes a turn against Hunter, so it could be nothing.

The verbal needling is definitely not nothing.

"Shan, huh?" Hunter says, mid-bout. "Interesting name."

"It's pretty common in the Core Worlds," Theron says, throwing a punch.

Hunter deflects with a quick circular motion, then strikes at Theron's shoulder with the same hand. It hurts. "Any relation to the Jedi Grandmaster?"

Why couldn't he have been 'The Evil One'? Or 'Hazard,' that's a good major arcana. "Does it matter? Family isn't exactly a priority for Jedi, either way," Theron says irritably.

"I'm just asking," Hunter says, ever so mild. "You don't look much like her."

"Cut the crap. What are you getting at?" Theron skitters back a few paces, glaring at him.

"I'm not getting at anything, Theron. Might want to work on your sabacc face, though. You're pretty obvious, for a supposedly decent spy." Hunter's green eyes glitter mockingly.

Maybe Theron's just imagining things. Or maybe Hunter's just an asshole.

Theron manages not to growl in frustration when Hunter pins him, _again,_ and takes too long to let go, _again._

And then it's his turn with Legate—they're all testing him, he realizes, one by one. Measuring, judging. Theron shakes off the self-consciousness, takes one last swig of water from his canteen, and turns to face the Imperial.

Legate, as it turns out, doesn't talk while he's sparring. Legate just _fights,_ vicious and fast and fluid, never quite where he's supposed to be. It takes all of Theron's concentration just to keep up. He'd call it fun, if not for the unwavering, unnervingly cold expression on Legate's face, and the distinct sense that Legate is cataloguing every single one of his weaknesses.

Is it paranoia if your opponent's a former Cipher agent?

"Remind me not to piss you off," Theron wheezes, tottering back to his feet.

Legate cracks a wry smile. "Don't worry," he says. "I'm very even-tempered."

* * *

The evening before they leave, Kothe takes him aside. "Agent Shan. We need to talk."

"Who died?" says Theron.

Kothe gives a very Marcus Trant-like sigh. "Nobody died, but there's information relevant to the mission that you need to be aware of before we go."

Theron blinks. "Um. All right? Hit me with it."

"It's about Legate." Kothe appears to be choosing his words carefully. "You know he's an Imperial defector."

"Yeah, it came up. The accent isn't exactly subtle. He said he was a Cipher."

"Correct. What do you know about Imperial Intelligence brainwashing?"

... That's not good. "Not much," Theron says uneasily. "Rumors, mostly. Horror stories."

Koth looks grim. "It bears repeating: Legate is a Cipher agent. He is a professional manipulator, good enough to outplay a Dark Councilor. Everything he says and does is calculated."

"What does this have to do with—"

"It's highly probable that Legate is a triple agent sent to subvert us from within."

"All right, all right, I get the picture, you think he's evil _and_ competent," Theron says. He doesn't quite manage to keep the irritation out of his voice. "But you're still working with him, mid-operation. What the hell is going on?"

Kothe clasps his hands behind his back and regards Theron with a solemnity that reminds him of some Jedi. Then Kothe says, "The Empire doesn't like it when ordinary people can challenge Sith. So Intelligence put an obedience override in Legate's head. A way to control him, just in case. Hunter did some digging when we first caught wind of a potential defector, and managed to discover the keyword."

Oh, no. "You didn't ..." Theron trails off.

"I offered Legate a deal when he came in—he stays and helps us with this operation, we use the keyword on assignments to ensure his cooperation, and when it's over, we attempt to deprogram him. He accepted. For the most part, it's field use only. Currently he's under orders to not discuss the situation with anyone outside the team, for obvious reasons."

There is _so much_ wrong with that arrangement. Theron swallows. "And if Legate hadn't accepted the offer?" he says.

"Then he would've been on his own," Kothe says simply.

On his own with a brain full of _obedience overrides_. "That's not a fair choice—"

"None of this is fair," says Kothe. "But we use the tools we have. We do what's necessary, even when it's ugly. This line of work is all unfair choices. And I will not risk my team or our mission for the sake of one Imperial assassin who probably intended to kill us all to begin with."

The lesser evil argument. Theron fucking _hates_ the lesser evil argument. "But you don't _know_ that. If he was legit to begin with, you're messing with him for nothing, and handing him every possible reason to go rogue the second he gets an opportunity. If he _wasn't_ legit, you're not going to flip him, but you're still revealing a lot about your operations, and if he gets loose ... Either way, that's—that's not a machine, that's a person. Is this what we do to people now?"

"This is what we need to do, to one person, for the sake of trillions. And I will remind you—he said yes. Whether he's hoping to stab us in the back or genuinely wants to help, I want him where I can see him."

"There's got to be other ways to—"

"Agent Shan," Kothe says sharply, "I have made my decision, and it is final. If you can't live with it, you have no place on this team. Marcus indicated that you were our best option, but you are by no means the only one."

Theron stares at him. "I—"

"Are we going to have a problem?"

"... No, sir," he says quietly.

He isn't the patient type, but he knows when to bide his time.

There is, however, a difference between biding one's time and doing nothing at all.

* * *

The next morning, Theron catches Legate before they depart. "Hey. Um. Are you ... okay?"

Legate stills, then turns to face Theron directly. "What answer do you want to hear, Agent Shan?"

Theron's heart sinks. He knows that Theron knows. There goes any pretense that this is a conversation on equal footing.

Maybe that's the problem. Pretending. Ignoring the reality of the situation, because it's uncomfortable and ugly and—and wrong. It's wrong. He's done some less than entirely ethical shit in his day, he knows how the spy game works, but—still.

Theron pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "All right. Cards on the table. Kothe told me about your programming. I don't know your trigger word, and I don't want to know. I've been going over a few past conversations and—"

Between one blink and the next he finds himself pinned to the wall with a knife at his throat, red optics burning at him out of an utterly expressionless face.

Theron doesn't move.

Legate holds position for what feels like hours but is probably only a few seconds. Then, casually, as if they just bumped into each other in the hallway, he steps back, and the knife vanishes up his sleeve again. "Either you're a better actor than I am, or you really don't know," he says. "Interesting."

... Okay, that's ... one way to test if he's telling the truth. But it doesn't answer his initial question, which is the reason for this whole damned song and dance in the first place. "Would you be able to tell me if anything was wrong?" Theron says cautiously.

Legate laughs. "A 'yes' would be convenient, wouldn't it. Salve your conscience. Reassure you that everything is fine."

"Is it?"

"You know you can't trust anything I say. For so very many reasons."

"... You're not okay," Theron says.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!"

"Let me rephrase. What do you intend to do about it if you're right?"

Theron swallows. "Depends on what I'm right about."

Legate tilts his head to one side.

Theron's holocomm chirps. Cursing under his breath, he activates it. Hunter. Of course. "What?" Theron says irritably.

"Briefing in five. Have you seen Legate? I lost track of him earlier," Hunter says.

Theron doesn't let his gaze flicker away from the holo. "I'll look around, see if I can find him."

"You do that, Theron," says Hunter, and he cuts the connection.

Theron lowers the comm. Legate is just ... watching him. Hasn't moved at all. Then he smiles and says, "You are _very_ interesting, Agent Shan."

Theron can't come up with a witty response before Legate's out the door.

* * *

The shuttle ride is quiet and tense. Theron tries not to stare, or act suspicious, or draw attention to himself. He clenches his jaw as Hunter pulls Legate aside when they touch down on the planet, murmuring something inaudible that makes Legate's chilly mask melt away, leaving a horrifically blank nothingness behind.

"I will infiltrate the laboratory and assess security," Theron hears, and the delivery is all wrong. Too smooth, too calm, too controlled. Because Legate is being controlled.

Theron feels _sick._

The nothingness recedes, slowly, and then Legate takes a deep breath. "I'll signal when I'm in position," he says, clipped and professional.

"We'll be waiting," says Kothe. "Saber, Wheel—be ready with that distraction."

"Acknowledged," the droid intones.

"Can do, Master Kothe," says Saber.

Theron frowns. That's not a normal form of address for an SIS agent under ... well, any circumstances. Is Kothe a _Jedi?_ He talks like one, sometimes, but—Theron files it away to investigate later.

* * *

The mission goes fairly smoothly, at first—Theron and Kothe disable the pirates' comm relays, Saber and Wheel cause a ruckus that draws off the majority of the pirates while Hunter plays backup, Legate ghosts into the facility and connects to the internal network, Theron takes down their firewalls remotely and gets a location for the server containing the data they're after. The only hiccup is Saber almost calling Theron 'Chance' over comms, once.

It's almost enough to make Theron feel halfway optimistic.

And then, while Legate is en route to the server room—

"The trigger phrase is 'Keyword: onomatophobia,'" Kothe says. "Once Legate has the data, use the keyword, then tell him to meet us at the rendezvous point."

Theron's stomach drops. "You want _me_ to ...?"

"That's right," Kothe says, too patiently, watching Theron—waiting for a reaction.

Theron eyes him right back. "Not exactly how I expected to be read in, but okay," he says with a little laugh. Hopefully it doesn't sound too nervous.

"You're part of the team," says Kothe. "I know you're not happy about this—I'd be shocked if you were. But I do expect you to take appropriate precautions in the field. We can't risk our mission being compromised."

The comm chirps. Theron is half-tempted to throw it into the stream nearby, maybe shoot it a few times for good measure. He hesitates, then answers. "Shan here."

"Reached the server room," Legate says. "Looks like the previous residents left a bit more cybersecurity than anticipated. Can I trouble you for a remote attack?"

"Yeah. Sure. Um, just use the spike I gave you, it'll give me access," Theron says, and his voice is shaking slightly.

Kothe is still watching.

A few seconds later, Theron's implant starts feeding him information from the spike. Sure enough, the data they want is behind another layer of security. He picks it apart, slowly, methodically—and if Kothe asks why it's taking so long he can honestly say that he's just being careful.

But then he unravels it completely, and Legate says, "Data copied. Wiping the drives now," and Kothe folds his arms and fixes Theron in a hard, even stare.

Theron takes a shallow breath. "Legate, I ..." He stops. They have an audience. And what fucking good is an apology if you don't stop doing the thing you're apologizing for?

"Keyword: onomatophobia," Theron says, and his voice doesn't break and the squirming shame and horror don't claw their way up his throat. "Proceed to the rendezvous point. We'll meet you there."

"I am on my way to the rendezvous point," Legate says in that awful, lifeless voice.

"Shan out," Theron manages. He deactivates the comm and lowers it.

Kothe nods at him.

Theron doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything.

* * *

"Legate, I ..."

Cipher Nine exhales. That's it, then. He knew it was coming eventually. He knew Theron Shan's inconvenient scruples wouldn't last. Chance's didn't.

"Keyword: onomatophobia. Proceed to the rendezvous point. We'll meet you there."

"I am on my way to the rendezvous point." He can do nothing else.

The immediate effects of the keyword—"priming" him to receive orders—fade within about ten seconds. Aside from the command itself, which persists until it's obeyed, a gravitic pull he can't escape, the lingering effects take several minutes. Not quite dissociation—he wishes it were just dissociation—but a similar sense that reality is a bit distant, slippery and detached and _off._

He digs a thumbnail into the underside of his fourth finger, hard enough to hurt without causing any real damage. Controlled pain helps, sometimes. Not in any tangible, measurable way—it doesn't let him refuse or help him resist. It's just something to focus on.

He has some lateral freedom, as long as he's generally moving in the right direction. He makes a game of it—sees how far off-course he can force himself to wander before his stupid fucking body starts veering back. If this were Taris he could have dragged it out much longer, maybe detoured through rakghoul territory, picked a fight or two. And isn't it amusing that risking his life and what's left of his mind against infectious cannibal mutants is preferable to returning to the rest of the team—but these woods are empty of anything dangerous enough to delay him. Saber drew off all the hostiles, left him with nothing but squat, broad-leafed trees and insects to work with.

Unfortunate.

He manages to buy about five minutes, total. Almost a twenty-five percent increase in travel time. Not his best, not his worst. The team are all waiting by the shuttle when he arrives in the clearing where it's hidden. He ups the magnification on his optics as he approaches. Shan looks pinched and unhappy; Kothe looks impassive as he talks to Saber, who seems her usual cheerful self. Wheel is at her side, mindlessly loyal as always.

Hunter is at the perimeter of the clearing. Watching for him.

"What took you so long, Legate?" Hunter says with a grin, falling into step beside him, briefly laying a hand at the back of Cipher Nine's neck. It's a familiar gesture. Saber seems to read it as affectionate. Maybe it is, in Hunter's estimation. Maybe her belief that it's affectionate is entertaining to Hunter.

It's a threat, regardless of Hunter's actual emotional state, and nobody is ever going to object to it. Why would they? Legate is a sad, touch-starved Imperial flesh droid who needs to be shown kindness and warmth, after all. Hunter is only being friendly.

And Kothe ... Kothe _trusts_ Hunter.

Cipher Nine pulls his face into a slight grimace. "Saw life signs along the direct route," he says. "Probably just large animals, but I didn't want to risk any noise."

"Oh, Legate. Always so paranoid," Hunter says.

"It's worked for me so far."

"All that tension can't be good for you."

Cipher Nine allows himself a moment to fantasize about snapping Hunter's neck in lieu of responding to the fucking _transparent_ prelude to—

"I'll have to give you a hand with that, later," Hunter murmurs.

They board the shuttle, and Hunter has to be on his best behavior again.

* * *

After the debriefing, Kothe takes Hunter aside for one of their little chats. That's at least an hour of relative safety. Cipher Nine ghosts into the maintenance closet he found after Taris. He perches on a box of cleaning supplies, stealth field still active, and idly flicks between IR and night vision, back and forth. Solitude is at a premium, for the duration of his stay here.

He wonders what Shan's guilt will become, given time. He told Chance there was nothing to forgive, after Taris. It solidified his standing with Saber, and hopefully introduced at least a sliver of uncertainty into Kothe's threat assessment. He could take the same approach with Shan.

... Or, instead of being a passive, compliant, cooperative little automaton playing up how perfectly fucking fine it all is to buy time, he could actually _do something_.

Kothe didn't need to give Shan the keyword, but did so anyway; it's likely it was calculated to bring Shan into the fold, or at least under control. Complicity as social and professional leverage. Clever.

But Shan is currently vulnerable. The dissonance between his sense of ethics and his actions could settle into rationalization, given time—and, of course, a bit of encouragement.

It could also be twisted to Cipher Nine's advantage. A fellow outsider to the core team. Guilt. Coercion. Being used. He'll have to be careful with the phrasing, given the restrictions on what he's permitted to say, but he's already laid in the groundwork for an emotional—

Someone knocks on the door.

He stops breathing.

* * *

Finding Legate after they return to base and debrief is ... complicated. As soon as everyone's dispersed, he vanishes, and Theron doesn't exactly want to ask around if anyone's seen him. It'd draw attention that he clearly doesn't want, and Theron doesn't want it, either.

So Theron slices the internal cameras, looks for the intermittent digital warping of an active stealth field on footage from the past thirty minutes—he has to cook up his own programs to sort out what's suspicious and what's just normal static or artifacting. Legate's generator is beyond overkill for evading detection by anything but, well, someone like Theron.

There. Maybe? Probably. A near-imperceptible distortion that moved from the main room to one of the side hallways, and then disappeared into a blind spot. Theron goes to investigate and finds a maintenance closet just outside the camera's field of view.

He steels himself and knocks on the closet door. "Hey. It's me."

Silence.

Theron exhales. "If you want to talk, I'll be in my quarters. Code is 32265. I set the cameras to scrub your stealth field off the recordings. If you don't want to talk, that's fine too."

He leaves, and doesn't look back.

* * *

The door hisses open.

Theron looks up, and—there's nobody there. Nobody visible, at least. "Hi," he says quietly.

Legate flickers into view in the doorway as it slides shut behind him. His arms are folded, spine straight, expression unreadable. "What do you want from me?"

"That's not—can we talk? About today?"

"You can. I may encounter technical difficulties depending on whether you're recognized as part of the team."

Theron winces. "Right. Um. Okay."

Legate is silent for a moment, then says, clearly and carefully, "I am subject to an override code that compels me to obey whoever uses it." He pauses. Shrugs a little. "Huh. Apparently you do count. Maybe it adds you to the list when you use the keyword."

Theron's insides are writhing. Part of the team. Another hand on the leash. "Good," he says. "I mean—not good, but—better? Look, I know this isn't a fair conversation. But I swear to you, I will never use the keyword except for specific objectives in the field." Because if he doesn't, Kothe will ground him for risking the mission. And the writhing awfulness twists into a whole new dimension of _fuck no_ at the thought of just—leaving Legate here, with people who don't seem to see a problem with what they're doing.

"Promises, promises," Legate murmurs.

"Promises are all I've got, at the moment. But I mean it."

"... He surprised you. Mid-mission."

"Yeah. He did." If Theron were prone to the kind of cynicism and paranoia that he's trying really, really hard not to allow to get to him, he'd think Kothe did it deliberately. Here's the keyword. Now use it. Congratulations, you're complicit in the thing you were throwing a tantrum about. Welcome to the team. But he doesn't want to believe that Kothe would do that. Would think like that.

But. If he did.

If.

Legate leans back against the wall next to the door, watching him, silent. Letting Theron do the talking. Dig himself a nice hole, maybe.

Theron can't quite meet Legate's gaze. "Truth is," he says, "I don't buy the whole 'necessity' argument. You might be a triple agent. You might not. We should be handling this like any other defection, not—exploiting your programming."

"It's so very convenient, though," Legate says, just the faintest edge of a sneer in his voice.

"That's one word for it." Theron rubs the back of his neck and sighs. "Okay. Look. I respect Kothe—" does he, though? He doesn't know how he feels about Kothe anymore "—but he's out of line here. I don't know if there's a way to fix what Intelligence did to you, but ... I want to help."

Legate bursts out laughing. "You want to _help._ All right. That's nice of you. What happens if I am a triple agent?"

"Then Kothe gets to say 'I told you so' and I get to sleep at night knowing I didn't stoop to the enemy's level." Assuming he survives, anyway. Which might actually be an issue, given who he's dealing with. Theron's good, but ... Cipher agent.

Still. It's wrong, what they're doing. Nobody deserves this.

Legate isn't laughing anymore. He's frowning, very slightly, like he doesn't quite know what to make of Theron. Definite improvement, if it's genuine. "I did agree to Kothe's terms," he says. "I had the opportunity to leave, and didn't take it."

"Kothe mentioned that." Theron hesitates, then says, "He made it sound all very above-board and voluntary, but ... agreeing to something because you don't have any real alternatives isn't the same thing as consent." Where else could he have gone? Back to the Empire that brainwashed him? Strike out on his own, try to find someone with the resources and expertise to unfuck his head with both Intelligence and the SIS after him, hope that whoever he found wouldn't decide to use his programming for themselves?

Legate's face does something complicated. He presses his lips together, inhales. "No," he says, a little raspy. "It's not consent."

To say nothing of the possibility that Kothe wouldn't have taken no for an answer, Theron realizes with a chill. Not that he thinks Kothe would do that—probably, hopefully—but there's no way in hell the thought didn't occur to _Legate._

Who is staring at Theron, mask cracking, something like fear or maybe hope bleeding through.

Theron swallows. "I want to help," he says again.

Legate takes a breath to respond. Then his comm chirps. He flinches, hard, and drags a hand down his face. "We'll—we'll talk later," he mutters, already reaching for the door controls.

Theron nods rapidly. "Okay. Later."

Legate runs his tongue over his lips and looks away. The chilly mask snaps back into place as he strides out of Theron's quarters, activating his holocomm.

Theron catches a glimpse of Hunter's blue-lit silhouette before the door hisses shut again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update schedule? consistent chapter length? that's adorable. you're adorable.

They don't get a chance to talk at any length for another few days—Kothe splits up the team for their next assignments. All of which he refuses to explain—how they're connected, what the end goal is, none of it gets so much as a hint.

Theron would be starting to hate this whole operation for that alone, if he didn't already hate it for other, more immediate reasons.

Does Director Trant know what's going on? Theron hopes not. He's seriously considering going over Kothe's head, but something holds him back. What if Trant _does_ know, and signed off on it in the first place? What if he doesn't, and telling him throws a genuinely vital mission into jeopardy? But is a vital mission worth seeing through if it means treating a potential ally like a malfunctioning droid?

Legate's the one who'll pay for it if he makes the wrong call—so what does Legate want?

So he tags along with Saber and Wheel, meditates through the skin-crawling memory of Legate echoing his orders, and doesn't comm Trant in the middle of the night to have a good scream.

Yet.

* * *

"So," Theron says, aiming for casual and definitely missing, "what's your take on the whole brainwashed Imperial spy situation?"

They're in a closed-top speeder across the street from a warehouse on Antakar. Stakeout, for now—their target could show up at any moment between an hour ago and sundown, and they just have to wait. Saber's in the driver's seat, Wheel's in back, and Theron needs to get a better sense of what the hell these people are thinking.

He'd also love a better sense of what the hell Kothe is after, but only Hunter seems to have a clue, and Hunter isn't talking.

Saber looks at him sidelong. "What, Legate? He's a little weird, but he grows on you. I think he's just shy."

"I meant—not him as a person. The keyword."

She shrugs. "I feel bad for him. Work your ass off for the Empire and that's how they thank you? That's got to sting. But I guess it all worked out in the end."

Theron stares at her. "Worked out how?"

"He helps us, we help him once it's all over, everybody wins. Well. Not the Empire, but still," Saber says with a slightly confused expression. "Master Kothe did tell you about their deal, right?"

"Yeah, he did, I just—don't you think it's a little questionable?"

"... No?" she says. She frowns at him. "It's a bad situation, but we're all making the best of it. And it's not like it's hurting him or anything. He hasn't complained at all."

Theron wants to shake her until she understands. He nods jerkily. "Right. Yeah."

Of course Legate hasn't complained. Everyone he's _capable_ of complaining to is in turn capable of forcing him to comply anyway.

Carefully, Theron says, "You said he was shy. Maybe he's worried how you'll react, if he says anything."

"Why, did he say something to you?" Saber asks.

Theron almost, almost says _ye_ _s_ _._ Not because it's strictly true—Legate hasn't outright said anything is wrong; he's just conspicuously failed to deny it—but because _everything_ is wrong, and if Saber needs an explicit complaint before she'll even consider the possibility ...

But then he thinks—what if. What if he says yes, and he can't convince her, and Saber tells Kothe? What will Kothe think, that the Imperial defector he's so convinced is a triple agent is getting chummy with Theron? Maybe Kothe is right not to trust Legate, but ... maybe he isn't. And either way—Legate pays for it.

Theron can't, won't risk it, not without asking first. Legate could barely believe that Theron wanted to help, might _still_ not believe it. It's not like Theron's managed to do anything useful. And while there's not much trust between them, if any, Theron has no desire to breach what little is there.

So he lies, and says, "Nah. I guess it's just ... what I'd be worried about, if it were me."

Saber shrugs. "Nothing to worry about. We're a team, right?"

"Right," says Theron. "We're a team."

"Target in sight," Wheel says abruptly.

Theron stuffs the crawling unease down deep and peers through the windshield. Sure enough, their guy's leaving the warehouse.

This had better be worth it.

* * *

Theron has lots of time to think, on the way back to Nar Shaddaa, old-style Republic decryption matrix safely in hand. About the mission, about Legate, about Kothe.

About the keyword, and how to circumvent it.

As straightforward as it sounds, an "obedience override" can mean a lot of things. Does it just force Legate to obey, or does it actually change how Legate _thinks_ while it's active? Theron's been assuming the former, but maybe he shouldn't. What happens when Legate receives contradictory orders—do they cancel out? Does one supercede the other? Or would it tear his brain apart? And how complicated can the orders be? So far Theron's only seen short task lists: go here, do this ... Can it enforce if-thens? While loops? How much of the "programming" analogy is literal?

Regardless, it's malicious code, written in neurotransmitters rather than binary, and if he wants to help Legate, he needs to understand it. He is the best slicer in the SIS, after all.

Without any way to test theories—to say nothing of the fucking _nightmare_ that would put Legate through—his current options are limited. But something does occur to him. Something that won't unfuck Legate's head, but might make the interim less oppressively awful.

Theron practically bounces out of the shuttle when it lands, and then realizes that he's bouncing directly towards a debrief with Kothe. Which ... deflates him, a little. He runs through a calming exercise from his childhood—he might not be the Jedi Order's biggest fan, but some of their stuff works even if you have all the Force sensitivity of a brick—and puts up a few discreet mental defenses from SIS training before he follows Saber into Kothe's office. The kinds of defenses used against hostile Force-sensitives.

Saber calls him _Master Kothe._ He talks like a Jedi. Saber said Theron fought like him—and Theron still has shades of Shii-Cho in his fighting style. It's not a certainty, but it's enough of a possibility to warrant a little caution.

Or a lot. A lot of caution. About as much caution as Theron can reasonably use without tipping anyone off that he is, in fact, being cautious.

"How did it go?" Kothe asks as they enter his office.

"It went great," says Saber, setting the decryption matrix on his desk. "Wouldn't say no to more field work with the new guy." She smiles at Theron, all friendly and welcoming.

Theron returns the smile. Hopefully it's convincing enough. "Yeah. Same."

"Well done," says Kothe.

* * *

Cipher Nine is keeping himself busy in the armory, stripping and cleaning blasters. Kothe requested it, and far be it from him to refuse the opportunity to avoid interacting with anyone else in the safehouse.

He loathes Saber and Wheel, but he will admit that existence is more tolerable when they're not out on assignment. They serve as an excellent distraction. Maybe that counts as missing them when they're gone.

Probably not, though.

An hour or so into his little project, there's a knock on the armory door. He stills, then continues working. Hunter wouldn't have knocked, and Kothe wouldn't have interrupted. Apparently the field team is back. "Come in," he calls out.

The door hisses open; Agent Shan's standing there, hair sticking up in its customary crest, implant indicator lights glowing cheery yellow. "Hey," he says. "Just got back. Uh, do you have a minute?"

"You tell me," Cipher Nine says.

Shan doesn't quite flinch, but discomfort curdles his expression. "Um. About that. I had an idea. More of a theory, maybe. Does the keyword work if it's written down, or does it have to be used verbally?"

Cipher Nine stops cleaning the current holdout blaster and stares at him. The question occurred to him, early on, but he had no way of testing it without asking Kothe, Chance, or Saber, and that would mean raising suspicion. Or piquing _their_ interest in playing with the keyword. He gets enough of that from other parties.

"I don't know," he says after a moment.

Shan nods and pulls out a datapad, waggles it slightly. "If I'm right, if it has to be verbal ... I could set up a direct messaging program. Encrypted, obviously. But I thought ... maybe it'd help. Being able to have a conversation where I can't ... you know."

"If you're right," Cipher Nine echoes.

Shan hesitates, then says, "Do you want to test it? I can just type out an order and then ... I guess we'll see if it does anything."

Does he _want_ to test it. As if he could refuse—no, that's not productive cynicism talking. That's the other kind. Shan's moral crisis seems to have resolved into actual sympathy and action, and that's _useful._ He won't trust blindly, but he won't look a gift slicer in the mouth. "Do it," Cipher Nine says, allowing his voice to sharpen. See how emotionally invested he is in the outcome. See how much he wants to know.

Shan nods, fingers already tapping away. He looks down at the datapad, exhales, and then slides it across the workbench surface.

Cipher Nine reads it.

KEYWORD: ONOMATOPHOBIA. STAND UP, THEN SIT DOWN AGAIN.

He waits for the puppet strings to go taut.

And nothing happens.

Written words. _Written words are safe._ He laughs, once, brief and quickly stifled—only half artifice; the keyword is there, in front of him, _and he doesn't have to obey,_ and it leaves him dizzy and shaking. He looks up at Shan. "I—thank you," he says, tightening his throat to make his voice rasp slightly. He smiles, tentative but hopeful, and then presses his lips together as if to hide it.

Shan smiles back, dark eyes softening. "Least I could do," he mumbles. "Okay. I'm gonna ... I'll be in my quarters. I'll send you the program, and then ... I guess we can talk? Only if you want."

Shan's concern for what he _wants_ would be grating if not for the fact that it seems sincere.

Useful and not intolerable. A vast improvement over the alternatives.

Cipher Nine deletes the line of text and offers the datapad back to Shan. "I think I'd like that," he says.


End file.
